He was referring to the House of Commons, destroyed in a Nazi air raid in 1941, and was urging Parliament to build it back exactly as it was—to restore “its old form, convenience and dignity.”

But why was this so important? The short answer:

Some buildings fill you with awe. Others depress you.

Why? Because architecture is more than mere aesthetics. It’s the visible manifestation of a culture’s beliefs: about humanity, God, meaning, and life itself. Let me explain…

A Monument to Heaven

Staying in London, take the example of Westminster’s great Gothic church:

• Pointed arches and lofty spires, giving the sense of upward movement

• A wide base, contributing a feeling of groundedness and solidity

• Fine details like stained glass, carved arches, and images of saints

This style emerged in Europe in the 12th century, and it’s a perfect reflection of the deepest beliefs of the region during the Middle Ages.

For instance, medieval architects took for granted that man’s purpose was to journey upward to heaven. That’s why they built a sense of upward motion into their churches. They also knew that we must stay grounded in our earthly lives, so they gave their buildings a solid foundation.

Most importantly, they believed that beauty has moral power, and wanted buildings to ennoble every person who walked in. Churches were filled with painstaking detail so that every aspect offered an encounter with beauty that draws the viewer toward God. 

So, if the glory of medieval cathedrals was built on a conviction that we need to turn towards God, what about the churches of a very different time and place—like 1970’s America? 

Rise of the Spaceship Churches

The late 20th century saw seismic shifts in America’s frame of reference. The world wars had come and gone, leaving a new hope for a conflict-free future. Space exploration promised to set humanity free from its last constraints. A new era of peace, built on advancements in science and technology, seemed ready to emancipate man from his age-old struggles. 

This science-fuelled optimism showed up in the media of the 60s and beyond. While real-life rockets raced to the moon, the Starship Enterprise spread a message of peace across the galaxy.

Star Trek producer Gene Roddenberry believed in this brave new era so much that he went where no producer had before: he told his writers to avoid any interpersonal conflict between the main characters.

Why? By the 24th century, he believed, mankind would have transcended petty problems like human conflict. We were going to save ourselves. 

These humanist values show up in the architecture of the time too. Many churches from this era exhibited:

• Round designs instead of rectangular or cross-shaped

• Low roofs instead of spires

• Curved pews, so congregants could sit in a circle or semi-circle

• Blank interior walls

But why would humanist optimism lead to these changes?

Instead of spires that draw the eye up to Heaven, flat roofs kept the focus here on earth. The extravagance of ornamentation vanished—designers weren’t trying to ennoble anyone, perhaps because they believed man was already noble enough. Round buildings with amphitheater-style seating took the focus away from the altar, where God and man meet, and instead emphasized the human community.

The message behind this architecture: “We needn’t turn to God or aim higher. We can solve our own problems, let’s focus on ourselves.”

Spaceship values build spaceship churches.

But what about our own cities in the modern day?

Modern-Day Cities

Modern-day architecture still tells the story of our values. If you want to know what your culture believes, look at what it builds. 

The U.S. is notorious for building automotive cities—cities that optimize car traffic instead of human interaction. 3 out of 4 Americans drive to work, and you’ll find over 200,000 drive-throughs across the country (restaurants, coffee shops, even banks). 

Unquestionably, the motorcar is a vehicle of American freedom—literally and figuratively—and one of the greatest bringers of wealth in history. But what does it mean for the values of modern American culture? Perhaps it’s saying:

• Efficiency outranks beauty

• Convenience outranks connection

• Work and shopping are the most important activities of human life

Counterintuitively, this productivity mindset is a complete departure from the values that built the great ancient cities. 

Take Prague, possibly the world’s most beautiful city. In its more than 1,000 years of history, it accumulated hundreds of church spires and historic buildings. It’s small, dense, and walkable, with pedestrian-friendly bridges and cobblestone streets. Its main attractions aren’t shopping centers or fast-food outlets, but gardens, churches, and monuments. 

Of course, the quaint urban centers of Europe are themselves far from innocent, architecturally speaking. Much of what we build today degrades what came before. Look no further than the deconstructivist Dancing House, which looks like an infection on the elegant classicism that preceded it.

It sprung out of a WW2 wreckage. But unlike the House of Commons, the dignified terrace was built back not as it was, for the benefit of the community, but to make the name of a radical architect.

However, looking back at the ethereal Old Town, what values does Prague prioritize?

• Beauty (and taking the time to absorb it)

• Staying connected to one’s community

• Connection to the past and tradition

• A slow pace of life

• Prayer

Take a look at your house, your church, your pub, your city. Try to read the values that underlie the physical building. What do you see?

Architecture is more than the roof over your head. It’s the physical embodiment of what a culture believes and how it lives. 

Artwork of the Week

Can architecture be activism?

Can imagination be illegal?

What happens when nostalgia is treason?

The above painting looks innocent enough. It’s called Architectural Fantasy, the work of French painter Hubert Robert.

It’s one of the finest examples of capriccio: a landscape or architecture painting that combines real elements with imagined or fantasy components, such as:

• Ruins

• Exotic locations

• Impossible combinations of buildings

• Fantasy figures or creatures, like satyrs or dragons

So how did Hubert Robert get in trouble for blending reality with imagination?

Robert rose to prominence in France in the years before the French Revolution. He used his eye for design to build up the beauty of Paris in many ways, from painting its greatest monuments to designing gardens for the aristocracy. 

The revolutionaries jailed him under the pretext of failing to have the right citizenship papers, but the real reason was clear: he was too good at capturing the beauty of the ancien régime. Instead of the brave new world the revolutionaries sought to create, his paintings emphasized the beauty of old things.

Robert painted Architectural Fantasy years after his imprisonment, but it still tells a rebellious story. While the building he depicts is imaginary, some elements of the painting are all too real. 

For instance, the glorious baroque edifice shines with a golden light, like a monument to the Revolution, but it also looks tinged with decay—as if the shining monument has already started to crumble. 

And don’t miss the figures in the forefront. Several slaves are struggling to lift a heavy stone carving while a carefree barge sails along the canal. Perhaps, Robert suggests, the divide between rich and poor didn’t die with the old regime.

Robert popularized the capriccio genre and influenced many later artists to experiment with it. In a way, he’s the father of the modern fantasy genre as we know it: you only have to look at Tolkien’s evergreen popularity to realize how powerful this mode of storytelling can be.

Fantasy uses imagination to reveal truth about the real world. Robert used fantastical architecture to reveal that beneath France’s excitement for its revolutionary future, it harbored a secret nostalgia for its past.